


and if you're falling (I'm falling after you)

by livthelion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Derek has a (for the most part) unearned reputation, Derek is a dodo, Fluff, Human AU, M/M, Scott’s a loveable dodo, Stiles is adorable but also a dodo, practice kisses, they’re all dodos basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livthelion/pseuds/livthelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, pushed into a reluctant sort of comradery due to the closeness of their families, and everything is going swimmingly until the fateful night that Stiles comes to Derek for advice, because Derek’s older (by a year) and more “knowledgeable.” One thing leads to another and Derek finds himself volunteering as tribute to help Stiles figure out whether or not he’s a good kisser. </p><p>The kiss they share stirs up some unexpected feelings, and Derek is forced to reassess their entire relationship.</p><p>(Or five times Derek and Stiles hooked up for science, and the one time they did it for realsies)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from don’t judge me (and no I don’t know why I started it out on xmas eve ok I started it last night and it’s august I don’t know what’s happening w my life_ but holy shit, guys, I made a semi-serious summary for the first time in my entire life (tell me ur proud i live for approval)
> 
> Title from ‘[The Line](https://youtu.be/xFbK3bJW54Y)’ by dvsn  
> ‘And if you’re falling; I’m falling after you  
> And if you love it then I love it, too
> 
> We crossed the line’

**«** **You sure u can’t get away »**

Derek glances up and looks around the table. Laura is sitting across from him, intent on the phone she’s hiding in her lap from Cora and her prying eyes. (Their younger sister has a fondness for reading her messages aloud to the family; the more uncomfortable the text, the better.) The twins are in their highchairs, screeching at each other and making a mess of everything, as usual, and Stiles is in his designated seat right next to Derek, their parents ignoring them from the other end of the table, finishing off dinner and deeply immersed in conversation despite there being pretty much nothing new to catch up on since the last time they’d seen each other.

 **«** **Not even for a little bit? »**

Derek considers it, eyeing his parents. They seem as if they’re in a decent mood, and his dad is sure to be agreeable with those three glasses of wine he has in him, but his mom’s the one who makes the decisions in this family and she’s sober as a judge. (Which is a phrase that’s thrown around this house liberally, as that is her occupation).

He lets the scenario play out in his head: him asking his mother if it’s cool that he cuts out a little early, his mother lifting an eyebrow at him and saying, “Don’t be rude, Derek,” and turning back to her conversation with Claudia and John and his father dismissively.

He lets any and all hopes he has of going out to meet Braeden die.

His sisters were lucky; Stiles is an only child and since they’re about the same age, give or take a year, Derek is the one he’s always gotten paired off with. And even though they’ve barely said a word to each other throughout dinner, even though Stiles seems more into entertaining his little sisters with silly faces and, Jesus Christ — Derek groans inwardly — _peas up his nose_ than he is talking to Derek, he knows his mom would shut him down hard if he tried getting out of keeping Stiles company, (which she probably would very tactfully refer to here as “family time”) and he would look like a dick if he tried arguing with her, especially on Christmas Eve.

Most of the time, he doesn’t mind. Stiles isn’t the worst person he could’ve gotten saddled with and he’s not bad company, but on nights like tonight…

 **«** **My parents aren’t home »**

Damn. It’s almost a crime to pass up on an offer like that. Derek sighs and sends his reply with more than a hint of regret.

 **»** **Nah sorry, can’t. We’re having a family thing tonight. «**

 **«** **That’s too bad ;-( »**

Stiles notices him glaring at the table and snorts a little.

“Dude, you look bored out of your mind,” he says in an undertone so their parents won’t hear them talking shit and give them clean up duty. Wouldn’t be the first time, probably won’t be the last.

Derek arches an eyebrow, like, _ya think?_

Stiles snickers quietly, and Derek feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

He and Stiles haven’t been especially close since they were kids, but they get along well enough. And they _should_ after years of being forced together on play dates and joint family dinners and every holiday that passes in between.

It’s a different story outside of this house. Derek is a senior and Stiles is a junior, so it makes sense that they barely see each other at school. The circles they hang out in are…different. Derek has Boyd and Erica and Isaac, and Stiles has Scott and, well. Just Scott as far as Derek knows. Huh.

His uncle Peter barges in just as they’re finishing up dessert, holding a couple bottles of wine and a Christmas wreath he probably swiped off someone’s grave on the way into town. To say Derek is not fond would be an understatement.

Luckily for him, anyone under the legal drinking age gets shooed from the dining room pretty directly after that, so he doesn’t have to deal with Peter any more than the perfunctory nods they exchange in greeting.

Cora and the twins immediately run off to their play area, but Laura is the first to reach the living room and the remote, which means she has dibs on the tv for the evening. When Derek sees her choice—this low-budget eighties movie about a teenage, basketball-playing werewolf (because _that’s_ realistic)—he shakes his head, _nope,_ and nudges Stiles in the side, nodding his head toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he mutters, “we don’t have to watch this shit.”

Stiles seems about as relieved to escape as Derek.

-

Stiles flings himself across Derek’s bed, sighing happily. He snags one of Derek’s pillows—his favorite, actually—and stuffs it under his head.

“This is what I really come for,” he tells Derek, matter of fact.

“You mean you don’t do it for the company,” Derek responds, mock-hurt. He flops down next to Stiles, kicking him until he scoots over so that they can _both_ have enough room to lie down comfortably, instead of just Stiles, who tends to sprawl out over whatever surface he’s occupying with no regard for anyone else.

“Well, that too,” Stiles says, sarcastic as ever. But he bumps his shoulder into Derek’s companionably, so that’s alright.

Derek rolls his eyes good-naturedly and grabs the book he’s been reading off his bedside table. Stiles takes his cue, pulling his phone out of the confines of his hoodie and scrolling through his apps, only breaking the silence every once in a while if he finds something funny or gross enough to share with Derek, and Derek will either laugh in response or say, “I hate you; why would you make me witness that with my own two eyes”; whichever the situation calls for. They have this routine down pat.

“So, uhm,” Stiles says, about forty-five minutes in.

Derek looks up, eyebrow raised. Stiles is fidgeting nervously, cheeks a ruddy red.

“So, what?” Derek asks, feeling somewhat intrigued. He’s known Stiles his entire life, and the guy is shameless. Seriously. Zero shame. He’s unflappable, even in the most embarrassing of situations. Whatever’s weighing on his mind must be good.

“Yeah, so like you’ve been with a lot of people, haven’t you?”

That is not what Derek was expecting.

He snorts and gives a slight shake of his head, turning back to his book so he doesn’t have to look Stiles in the eye. “I wouldn’t say ‘a lot,’” he mutters.

“But you’ve _been_ with people,” Stiles presses.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek says, patiently amused, “I’ve had sex.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open in shock.

“Oh! Oh, no! I just meant, like, kissing— you’ve _had sex?”_ he repeats loudly. Too loud.

Derek claps a hand over his mouth, hissing, “Yes, Jesus, be _quiet.”_

Both of their heads swivel toward his closed bedroom door, the one leading out to the hallway connected to the stairwell. Light footfalls can be heard leisurely making their way up the stairs.

They hold their breaths as the steps come to a halt, too close to Derek’s room for comfort. Stiles sends him an apologetic look, but Derek doesn’t really blame him. He’s had a lifetime to acclimate to Stiles and his…excitable nature.

The door to the bathroom across the hall squeaks as it’s pulled open, and Derek lets out a sigh of relief. He’d live to see another day.

Stiles says something, but it comes out muffled, warm breath curling over Derek’s palm, and Derek is mildly surprised to find that he’s still covering his mouth. He drops his hand and wipes it on his shirt.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles, feeling bad now for the overreaction. “My parents don’t know.”

No one knows. He doesn’t like to advertise it. An awkward fumble in one of the Whittemores’ empty guest bedrooms after a few too many drinks with some girl he barely knew wasn’t exactly the highlight of his life. Jennifer, Julia—he’s still not too sure of her name, which he feels really bad about—hadn’t stuck around afterwards. He stopped hanging out with that crowd, stopped going to the post-game parties and tailgaters, after that. He doesn’t tell Stiles any of this, though; lets him draw his own conclusions and leaves it at that.

“Oh,” Stiles says, blinking a few times in rapid succession like he’s trying to soak all this new information in and needs some help getting there. It reminds Derek of those old cartoons, the ones where a hamster or mouse gets stuck on a running wheel attached to a generator and they have to run in circles, manually creating energy for whatever nefarious reason.

Stiles’ eyes narrow shrewdly. “Was it bad?” he asks, and it’s almost as if he already knows the answer.

Derek cringes internally, but tilts his head around like he’s considering answering.

“What were you going to ask me, Stiles,” he says instead.

“So it was _really_ bad,” Stiles infers, lips twitching subtly.

“Shut up,” Derek mutters, ears turning red. He sits up, making to leave. “I’m going downstairs, I’d rather deal with Laura and her shitty taste in movies.”

Stiles panics, apologizing quickly, “No, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again.”

Derek eyes him warily, and finally nods, gesturing for him to start talking and Stiles complies.

“So there’s this girl that I’m kind of, sort of seeing,” he begins, and Derek has to hide his surprise. It never really occurred to him, Stiles and girls, Stiles interested in anyone romantically, let alone already ‘kind of, sort of’ involved with someone.

“Aww, how cute, is Stiles in love?” Derek coos, feeling the sudden need to be obnoxious about this.

Stiles blushes. “What? No, we’ve kissed, like, two times,” he says impatiently. “That’s part of the problem. Actually, it’s _the_ problem.”

“What is?” Derek asks, eyebrow quirking in confusion.

“See, I don’t have much experience in the kissing department, so I’m not sure if it’s me or she’s just, like, a really bad kisser.”

Derek lets out a startled laugh that he turns into a cough, but Stiles isn’t fooled. 

“Forget it,” he grumbles, rolling onto his side, away from Derek.

Derek sighs and reaches out, pulling Stiles back around to face him. “Stiles, relax, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, maybe not to you, Mr. ‘I’ve Had Sex,’” Stiles mumbles petulantly.

Derek huffs another laugh, and then feels bad about it. Stiles still won’t look at him, cheeks blotchy red, eyes fixed on his phone.

Derek knocks it out of his hand just to get his attention, and Stiles gives him this offended look, but at least he’s making eye contact again.

“I didn’t have my first kiss ‘til I was sixteen either,” Derek confides, figuring it’ll make them even and Stiles can stop making that face.

Stiles’ eyes widen in disbelief. “For reals? _You?”_

Derek’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, you’re telling me that with the-” Stiles breaks off to gesture to Derek’s face, “and the-” gestures to Derek’s person, “you didn’t find anyone that wanted to get all up on that until you were sixteen? Please,” he scoffs.

And it’s obvious by the expression he makes afterwards that Stiles hadn’t realized how all that sounded until after it was said aloud. “No homo?” he adds like an afterthought, and Derek snorts a laugh. “But seriously,” Stiles continues, completely unembarrassed, “how in the hell?”

Derek lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t all that worried about it.”

Stiles nods, seeming to be mulling Derek’s words over, and then he asks, “What changed?” and Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He shrugs again, and Stiles seems to accept that it’s the only answer he’s going to get.

“So what’re you gonna do about your sort of-maybe girlfriend?” Derek asks, changing the subject.

Stiles lets out a large breath, looking stressed. “I honestly have no idea, man,” he says glumly. “What if it’s me? I don’t think it is, but what if it _is?_ Should I ask? I’m just gonna ask.”

“You can’t just _ask_ her; for fucks’ sake, Stiles,” Derek groans. “Do you want her to break up with you before you even start actually going out?”

Stiles appears to be thinking about it. “Well, no. I guess not.” His expression turns pleading. “Can’t you just tell me what to do?”

“No,” Derek says, and Stiles’ face falls and Derek just wants to make it _stop_. “But,” he quickly adds, “I can tell you if you’re a bad kisser.”

Derek recognizes that it’s a terrible idea a few seconds too late, but he’s already offered, it’s out there and there’s no way for him to take it back without causing mortal offense at most and at the very least hurting some feelings.

Stiles’ eyes get really big. “Really?” he asks, looking kind of touched at Derek’s commitment to his budding relationship. Derek grits his teeth against his own idiocy and nods, forcing his face to remain neutral.

“Are you sure?” Stiles presses, starting to look unsure himself. Like he thinks maybe Derek is pulling his leg, like he would do something that fucked up.

He should know that he wouldn’t, should _know_ Derek, they’ve been friends since…forever. But Derek is forced to realize that they don’t really know each other all that well nowadays. They have different lives, which is a weird thing to consider since the two of theirs have always been so intertwined.

Stiles is staring at him, searching his expression for a hint of reluctance, and Derek is suddenly reminded that everyone used to call Stiles ‘Bambi’ when they were growing up and thinks how fitting it is, because with those huge brown eyes and long lashes and that air of innocence, he really is like Bambi personified. It’s kind of ridiculously endearing, and Derek thinks it wouldn’t be such a hardship, maybe, kissing this loser. For charity, of course.

“Because we don’t have to,” Stiles adds, like he hadn’t made that point already.

Derek lets out a quiet huff and says, “Jesus, just come here,” wrapping his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and gently tugging him forward.

Stiles is trembling a little when their lips first meet, and Derek scrubs his fingers through the shorn hair at the nape of his neck, unthinking, to reassure him, calm his nerves. And it does, somehow, or at least it seems to, and they’re kissing and it’s—

Unexpectedly pleasant. Fuck, if Derek’s being honest with himself, it’s the best he’s ever had. For all his talk of inexperience, Stiles seems to know what he’s doing; uses just the right amount of lip, just the right amount of teeth and tongue. The way he shyly licks into Derek’s mouth sets something off low in his gut, and shit, he didn’t know kisses could be like this, let alone kisses with Stiles of all people.

Derek reciprocates eagerly, tongue sliding slickly, fucking perfect, into Stiles’ mouth. The _sound_ Stiles makes, this sweet little content groan. It has Derek’s dick giving a weak twitch in his pants, and, wow, okay, that was not how this was supposed to go.

He pulls back, oddly reluctant, and rests his forehead against Stiles’ for a brief moment, both of them trying to catch their breath.

Stiles sits back and licks his lips, the gesture absent. “So it was definitely her,” he says almost conversationally, and Derek tries not to find it adorable, the way his eyes are still closed and his lips are pink and plumper than usual, kiss-swollen.

Not that he’s ever noticed Stiles’ mouth before just now tonight.

Derek quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile, and is, against his better judgment, about to ask Stiles whether that meant _he_ was a good kisser, when Laura bursts in his room. “Hey, Stiles, your mom sent me to tell you they’re getting ready to leave.”

Derek calmly grabs his book where it lay, forgotten, in his lap, and buries his nose in it.

Stiles blinks. “Wow, that was quick. What happened, did Peter do something creepy again?” he asks jokingly, cracking up when Laura smirks a confirmation. 

“He always did know how to break up a party,” Laura says drily. 

“Must be a Hale family trait,” Stiles comments, winking at Derek. “Thanks for helping me out, by the way, man,” he says, smiling like they hadn’t just been making out like their lives were depending on it a minute ago.

“No problem,” Derek replies as easily as he can manage, and Stiles is grabbing his phone and getting to his feet.

Laura waits in the doorway with her arms crossed, casting glances between them with her eyes narrowed perceptively.

She doesn’t budge when Stiles tries to pass with an awkward chuckle, giving Derek a half-incredulous, half-fond look over his shoulder like, _would you believe the nerve of this girl,_ before he pats her on the head (knowing full well her height is a sore point) and squeezes around her.

Laura glares, smoothing her hair down irritably and mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath, but somehow she finds it within herself to put aside her irritation just long enough to be a nosy shit.

“What’d you help him out with?” she asks Derek, sounding painfully curious.

“Nothing,” Derek mutters, climbing out of his bed and shouldering past her. He pokes his head out of his room, walks to the banister and leans against it, feeling the urge to see if Stiles is really as composed as he seemed or if it was just an act, see if he was as strangely affected as Derek.

But Stiles genuinely seems unruffled.

Derek feels this weird kind of pressure building just below his collarbone, and he rubs his chest absently as he watches Stiles run down the stairs, skipping the last three steps and nearly crashing into his dad.

The sheriff steadies his son neatly, not even faltering in whatever he’s saying to Talia, like at this point it’s just a reflex to keep the boy from causing harm to himself and others, and Derek feels oddly fond.

The feeling only grows when he sees Stiles exchanging goodbyes with his younger sisters, scooping them up and spinning them around as they squeal in delight, even Cora who’s almost eight now and probably too heavy for him to pick up with any amount of ease, given his general scrawniness. But Stiles is kind that way, always the one to make sure no one feels left out.

“Your face is weird,” Laura comments, somehow having come to stand directly beside him without his noticing.

“Shut up,” Derek mumbles. He turns and walks back in his room, locking the door behind him so she has no choice but to leave him alone.

He stays up a long while that night, trying not to overthink what had happened and failing miserably. Eventually, though, he manages to convince himself that it was just a fluke, nothing more, and falls asleep.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite telling the people that sent me asks on tumblr that I wouldnt be updating for a while because I'm out of town without Internet and am not fond of writing shit on my phone,,,, here is an update I am posting from my phone lmao Sorry in advance for any mistakes/ awkward phrasing/ bad writing. I'm sure I'll check it over and make some changes when I have access to a desktop, can't really do anything about the shitty writing tho ur just gonna have to suck it up haha (I love this site but their autocorrect is ridiculous; if anyone has any connections let a brotha know)
> 
> This is gonna be the longest chapter btw, the rest of them seem to be content with staying at a reasonable word count IM SORRY

The phone chimes, shrill, in his ear and Derek groans awake, feeling as if he’s repeatedly been run over by a semi. He’d been up half the night working on an essay that was due the first day back from Winter Break – _today_ – and okay, yes, he’d been given an entire three weeks to complete it and had decided to leave it until the last possible moment, but whatever, sue him; he’s been busy.

He lies in bed for a minute, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead, and notices with some trepidation that the house is strangely quiet. At first, he thinks he must’ve woken up early for once, and that’s weird because he hadn’t finished writing his paper until about three in the morning and he’s never up before the twins, no one is (they don’t seem to require much sleep, running purely on sugar and the power they draw from Satan himself probably.)

His phone chimes again, angrily somehow, and he snatches it up, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach growing as he sees the increasingly aggressive text messages Laura’s left him.

**« r u up »**

**« derek I have to go into work early today »**

**« wake. up. »**

**« derek I s2g »**

**« idc what mom says I will leave without u »**

**« I am not getting fired because of you u little shit »**

**« DEREK MALORY HALE »**

Turns out, he had not woken up early; in fact, he’d somehow managed to sleep in past his first, second and third alarm, the one he sets for emergencies.

Fuck, Laura’s gonna murder him. She always said she would, been saying it for years, and she’s tiny, but she’s mean and he’s not a hundred percent certain he can take her, okay. He bolts out of bed, grabs a clean pair of boxers and flat out sprints to the bathroom.

He’s just finished taking the fastest shower he’s ever taken, possibly the fastest shower in human history, when he hears the Camaro roaring to life outside.

Derek shakes his head, teeth gritted together tightly as he tugs on his pants. No. Nope. Laura is not leaving without him. Laura is just warming up the car because it’s winter and it’s cold, and she loves him so she doesn’t want him to freeze to death on the way to school.

Yeah, it doesn’t even sound plausible saying it in his head.

He grabs a shirt at random from the Not Dirty pile he keeps on his chair and blindly yanks it over his head as he makes his way to the window to check. The car is gone. Derek curses and dives for his phone.

**» you left???? «**

**» are you fucking kidding me Laura «**

Derek puts on his shoes and grabs a sweater while he waits for her reply, hoping she’s messing with him - wouldn’t be the first time she’d pretended to take off without him just to get him worked up - but, in all honesty, chances of that are slim.

**« YUP »**

Goddamn it.

**« cant say I didnt warn ur ass »**

**« have a good day sweetie :) :) try not to be late for school! »**

Derek groans, equal parts angry and dismayed, and sends his sister a very mature, very well-thought out reply.

**» get FUCKED «**

He grabs his backpack and runs downstairs to snitch on Laura and maybe see if he can find himself another ride, but of course things are never that simple for him.

The cherry on top of the shit-pie that is his morning is discovering that his parents are gone as well; his mother to work and his father undoubtedly having already taken Cora to school and the twins to their early arts and crafts class or some shit (because he’s a freak of nature and actually enjoys waking up at the crack of dawn with his hellion children)—thus leaving Derek effectively stranded. He has to take his bike to school for the first time since junior high.

He makes it to campus before the first bell, but only just barely, and by the time he locks up his bike and enters the front doors, he’s breathing hard, sweating like a pig and praying to every God he knows that he hadn’t forgotten his English assignment at home in his rush to get there.

He rifles through his bag as he half-walks, half-jogs to class, not really paying attention where he’s going, and it’s just his luck that he ends up walking directly into Braeden, the very pretty girl he’d blown off to stay home and make- _hang_ out with Stilinski.

She reaches out to stabilize him with a playful smirk. “You alright? You look like you’re struggling there a little bit.” Derek notes her wiping her hands on the sides of her pants discreetly. Cool.

He lets out a small laugh, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry, I’m all gross. Having kind of a crappy morning.”

Braeden smiles understandingly and Derek doesn’t feel half as bad anymore. She takes a step closer. “So, listen, about last week—”

Derek tenses, already mentally preparing his apology, but they’re interrupted when Braeden’s friend, Malia, comes up beside her and latches on to her arm.

“Stop flirting; we’re gonna be late.”

The look she’s giving Derek says that he’s an inconvenience, but he doesn’t take it personally. Malia Tate is abrasive on a good day and known for being territorial when it comes to her friends, what few of them she has.

“See you around?” Braeden asks with a small smile.

“Sure,” Derek says easily.

Braeden gives him another apologetic smile, but allows herself to be dragged away without a fight.

Derek shrugs, and not having learned his lesson, immediately sticks his head back into his bag and continues on his way to English.

He’s just about to say fuck it, he’ll take the F and close his bag when he bumps into yet another person, the backpack and half its’ contents sliding across the floor.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head falling backward in defeat as the bell rings and people start swarming through the halls, making their way to first period.

This is gonna be a great year. He can already tell.

“I’m sorry,” he tells the person he’d collided with. They wave at him dismissively, already hunched over, picking up Derek’s belongings.

“No, no, that was totally my bad, homie,” a familiar bundle of freckles and flannel responds, “Should’ve been watching where I was going.”

Derek freezes, his chest feeling all weird again; tight, like there’s suddenly not enough space in it.

He hasn’t seen Stiles since Christmas Eve. It’s only been a little over a week and that’s not long, but when he tries to recall a time they’d gone more than a few days without seeing each other, he draws a blank. Their families are always doing something together, movies or dinners and random group outings.

It was strange, the Stilinskis’ continued absence, so much so that he even asked his mother about it. Laura had butted in, giving him his answer accompanied by a judgmental expression, (‘they went to Poland to visit Stiles’ family for a few days, don’t you ever listen?’).

Evidently, he doesn’t, but after the initial, and unexpected, burst of disappointment, he decided that it was probably for the best; gave him time to get his head on straight before he had to see Stiles again.

So much for that.

Derek shakes off his surprise and crouches down beside him, helping Stiles gather his things. Derek is a little annoyed at himself for being unable to stop glancing over every other second to see if Stiles has noticed him yet, but it doesn’t keep him from needing to see how Stiles reacts, if he’ll get nervous, if his cheeks will turn that endearing, blotchy red; if he even reacts at all. It might just be him being insecure, but he can’t help but feel that the kiss had been a bigger deal to him than Stiles, and that’s stupid because it wasn’t supposed to mean anything at all.

“Oh, hey, I know that handwriting,” Stiles says, squinting down at some of Derek’s notes. He glances up and smiles, huge and rueful, when he finally realizes just who it is he’d run into. “Hey, there, big guy.”

Derek’s lips twitch in response. “Hey, kid.”

Stiles jabs him in the side. “I’m only a year younger than you, you know,” he huffs, mildly affronted.

“Still counts,” Derek replies, teasing, and Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves Derek’s shoulder, almost knocking them both on their asses because they’re still squatting, trying to get all Derek’s shit back inside his bag. It’s a Lot. He should probably consider cleaning it out at some point.

Stiles side-eyes him and Derek hunches in on himself a little, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

Stiles shakes his head, poorly suppressing a smile. “Nothing, just-” he reaches out and plucks at Derek’s sleeve. “Nice sweater. Are those thumb holes?”

Derek’s face heats. “Shut up,” he grumbles, “it was a Christmas present from my mom.”

Stiles grins. “I’m not making fun of you, man; I like it. Looks good.”

Derek rolls his eyes, ears burning. “Whatever. How was Poland?” he asks, smoothly changing the subject.

Stiles exhales heavily, “Poland was very cold and everything my babcia tried feeding us seemed to have cabbage in it, but other than that it was peachy.” He gives Derek a sardonic smile and tucks the last stray papers away inside his bag.

“Nothing exciting, then,” Derek presses, all casual-like, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as they get to their feet. “No sight-seeing; no new...friends or anything?” Subtle.

Stiles snorts. “Don’t I wish. But nope; it was just us, the cabbage and Baba Ania. Plus about a thousand random aunts, uncles and cousins. My parents are thinking about sending me up for the summer to stay with my babcia, by the way. The woman who genuinely believes that the internet is the work of the devil.” He smiles then, so forced and haunted it sets Derek laughing.

He almost slings his arm over Stiles’ shoulder to comfort him, but stops himself at the last minute, remembering how Braeden had reacted to his disheveled state. He settles for a friendly clap on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, worst comes to worst, you can always hide out at our house for the summer.”

Stiles abruptly pulls Derek into a hug, not seeming to mind the heat that lingers on him from the morning’s exertions or his slightly damp shirt. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

Derek tenses only a split-second before returning the embrace. He wasn’t expecting this sudden show of affection, but is not...entirely opposed.

He can’t remember the last time they hugged. Sometime before Derek hit middle school most likely, before they’d really started growing apart. (Different schools meant different buses, and different buses meant no more Stiles coming over after school every day while the sheriff and his wife were at work. Instead, Stiles started going to the McCalls’, and Derek had branched out and met Erica, his best friend and possibly the worst decision of his life.)

“We’d have to make a schedule for you, of course,” Derek adds, voice strange and gravelly despite his joking tone. “I take my breakfast at seven o’clock sharp and turn-down service is a requirement.”

Stiles slumps against him further and groans, sounding pained. “I kinda missed you, even if you are a dick,” he mumbles into Derek’s shoulder. “And your bed. Mostly your bed. Babcia’s old pullout was not meant for anything with a spine, let me tell you.”

“Always knew you were only using me for my mattress,” Derek jokes lamely.

Stiles snorts, dismissive, arms still wrapped around Derek. “Can you blame me? You’ve seen my bed.”

And yeah, that’s a fair point.

Stiles’ actions finally seem to catch up to his brain, and he hastily backs away from Derek, with a mumbled, “My bad, man,” glancing around like he’s checking whether anyone had seen them.

Derek would never admit it, but it stings a little.

“What, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” he says, trying for levity, even though he’s mostly serious.

Stiles looks at him strangely. “I’m not the one who pretends you don’t exist when we’re at school.”

Wait, what?

Derek is quiet a moment, letting that sink in. “Are you saying I avoid you?”

“I’m saying you ignore me,” Stiles corrects, starting to walk in the general direction of class with a somewhat patronizing smile. “There’s a difference.”

Derek arches an eyebrow and falls into step beside him. “Enlighten me,” he says, his tone flat. Stiles’ expression says he’d rather not, but Derek stares him down until he complies.

Stiles sighs, lips twitching at the corners. “See, if you were avoiding me, I wouldn’t see you either,” he explains. “But I do; you just don’t see me.”

Derek’s mouth works, soundless, as they come to a stop outside his classroom. That’s not true. Is it? He tries to think of the last time he’d so much as caught a glimpse of Stiles on campus and can’t pinpoint a specific day. All he could tell you is that it wasn’t any time recently.

“I don’t—” he falters, and Stiles watches him work it out in his head, looking entertained. “Shut up,” he mumbles, starting to get flustered, “it’s not like you go out of your way to talk to me either.”

Stiles studies him for a moment and then glances away, shrugging. “I guess so.”

Derek scrambles mentally, trying to think of something else to say, another topic, anything that would put this subject to rest, stop Stiles from looking so withdrawn where he was smiling and laughing just a minute ago.

He nearly starts talking about the weather, that’s how bad it is, but Stiles steps in and saves him. “So, I know why _I_ wasn’t watching where I was going,” he says, waving his phone, “Talking Scott out of doing something moronic takes a certain amount of concentration; but what’s your excuse?”

And shit, he’d nearly forgotten. “I was looking for a paper I need for class right now.” Derek digs a knuckle into his eye, exhaustion hitting him all over. “Fuck, if I don’t find it, I’m screwed. It’s worth ten percent of our grade this semester.” Which is stupid and unfair; what kind of monster gives out homework over the holidays?

“English, right?” Stiles asks, tugging Derek’s backpack off his shoulder.

Derek raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t otherwise protest as Stiles unzips his bag and digs through it, flicking open one of Derek’s folders and producing the essay in a matter of seconds.

“This what you’re looking for?” Stiles says, holding it up between his forefinger and his thumb with a tiny, smug smirk.

“Are you serious? _Yes_ , thank you, you just saved my life.” Derek snatches it out of his hands, rapidly flipping through the pages, making sure everything’s in order. Yes, looks good; five thousand, convoluted and hastily written words, all present and accounted for.

Stiles seems pleased. “Well, it was in the folder marked, ‘AP English’, funnily enough.” Of course it was.

“Christ,” Derek sighs, disappointed in himself beyond belief.

“Rough morning?” Stiles asks dryly.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Stiles chuffs and says, “I got something for that; hold on.” He digs an energy drink and a granola bar out from the depths of his own backpack, handing them over to Derek. “I usually keep this stuff on me in case I need a pick me up, but it looks like you could use it more than me.”

Derek’s stomach gives a dull rumble at the sight, reminding him he’d skipped breakfast, and he accepts them gratefully. “I love you,” he tells Stiles with feeling, and Stiles ducks his head, embarrassed, cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“It’s nothing, man.”

The one-minute warning goes off, and Derek glances towards his classroom with some regret. “I should get inside. It was sweet of you, walking me to class, though,” he says solemnly, eyes doing nothing to hide his amusement.

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, big guy. This is me, right here,” he nods to the classroom directly adjacent to Derek’s.

Derek blinks. “Wait, really?” How has he never noticed that?

“See,” Stiles says, like the point he’d been trying to make earlier has been proven, “ignoring me.” He taps the side of his nose and disappears into his classroom.

Derek stands there for a moment, at a loss, until someone snaps their bubblegum in his face, startling him out of his stupor.

Derek flinches, rubbing his ear. “Ow.”

Erica ignores him. “Was that Stiles Stilinski?” she asks. “When did he get so cute?”

It pulls Derek up short, makes him want to hide Stiles away from Erica and her man-eating smile. It’s not weird or, like, possessive or anything, though; he’s just looking out for Stiles. Being a bro and all that. And, anyway, Stiles hadn’t gotten cute; he’s still as pale and scrawny as he’s always been.

Right?

“Don’t you have a boyfriend,” Derek asks through gritted teeth.

Erica is smirking at him knowingly, like a dog with a particularly juicy bone, when said boyfriend appears at her side and shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

Erica grins and smacks a kiss to Boyd’s cheek, thankfully, letting whatever she _thought_ she’d picked up on go. Derek pops the tab on the Monster Stiles had given him and follows them to their seats, still strangely irritated for some reason.

-

“So I heard you and Stiles had a little moment this morning,” Laura says, leaning against his doorway.

Derek grunts in annoyance. He shouldn’t be surprised; Erica and her big mouth.

“I just wanna say that I still think it’s really weird that you’re friends with my friends.”

Laura snorts, indifferent. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to get over it sometime. Anyway, back to what I was saying about you and Stiles.”

Derek doesn’t look up from his book. “What about it? We hang out. It’s not a big deal.”

Laura takes this statement as an invitation to come in and make herself comfortable, plopping down on the bed next to him and shoving his book out of his hands. “Not at school, you don’t.”

Derek sighs and buries his forehead into his outstretched arm. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this theory Stiles has that I ignore him when we’re at school.”

Laura laughs. “Theory? It’s not a theory, baby bro; I’ve seen you do it with my own eyes.”

His head snaps up, eyebrows drawn in tight. “What? I do not ignore Stiles.”

“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you do,” she says condescendingly. “I remember he tried talking to you a bunch of times when he first started high school with us, but you were in your little ‘jock phase’ with all those d-bag friends you used to run around with and eventually, he got the hint and stopped.”

“I don’t— I don’t remember that,” Derek says slowly, but he’s starting to. He sees Stiles, tiny and awkward-limbed, running over to him, all excited to be back at the same school, and Derek absently saying, “Oh. Hey, Stiles,” in response to his enthusiastic greeting, barely paying attention to Stiles’ rapid-fire chatter and always leaving the conversation as quickly as possible to get back to his other friends.

It wasn’t even that he was embarrassed of being seen with Stiles back then, it was just that he was a dumbass kid with dumbass friends and there wasn’t much space in his dumb, teenage brain at the time for more than lacrosse, parties and school (by order of priority)—and besides, he saw Stiles outside of school all the time.

So, no, he hadn’t actively decided to phase Stiles out, but, apparently, that’s what he did.

“Fuck.”

“Yep, you’re a total dick,” Laura says, chucking him under the chin with a sunny smile. She hops off his bed and flounces out of his room, looking unnecessarily pleased with herself.

“Gee, thanks, Laura,” he mumbles sarcastically. “You’re the best.”

“Anytime,” she calls back. She’s gone before he remembers he’d wanted to yell at her for leaving without him this morning.

-

The next morning, Derek makes Laura stop off at the convenience store on the way to school. She gives him this look like she knows he’s up to something, but for once doesn’t pry. Which probably means she has other things going on in her life that are holding her attention at the moment, but luckily for her, Derek isn’t as much of a busybody as she is. He leaves it alone, gets the things he came for, and hurries back to the car.

Derek walks around the courtyard before first period, looking for Stiles and finds him, to the surprise of no one, hanging around with McCall.

Derek catches his eye and jerks his head to the side, motioning Stiles over. He leans in to say something to Scott and approaches Derek, expression confused.

“Hey, big guy,” he says cautiously, “Is everything alri—”

Stiles trails off as he unceremoniously shoves the hazelnut espresso energy drink and candy bar Derek had gotten specially for him in his hands.

“What’s all this?” Stiles asks, looking surprised.

Derek shrugs, ducking his head and mumbling, “I don’t know, you helped me out yesterday; just wanted to return the favor.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles starts to protest, but Derek waves him off.

“I wanted to.”

“Oh.” Stiles ducks his head, starting to smile a little. “Well, I appreciate it, thank you. And, hey, KitKats are my favorite,” he says happily, reaching out to knock his knuckles lightly against Derek’s stomach.

Derek gives an amused huff. “I know. You’ve only mentioned it about a thousand times.”

“I’m just surprised you remembered,” Stiles laughs.

And Derek wants to apologize, right then and there, wants to say, sorry for being a bad friend, sorry I haven’t been paying attention, and sorry I made you feel that you’re not worth my time. But he can’t get it out.

“Yeah,” is all Derek says, awkward and weighted.

They stare at each other until one of Derek’s old lacrosse buddies calls his name. He waves and when he turns back, Stiles has this distracted look in his eyes.

“Well, thanks again, buddy,” Stiles tells him. “See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah, sure,” Derek says, disappointment rearing its’ ugly head.

Stiles gives him another slight smile, making as if to head back over to Scott, and Derek would just let that be that, but something about the sudden shift in Stiles’ demeanor doesn’t sit right with him. He catches Stiles by the arm, keeping him in place.

“You’re coming over tomorrow, right?”

“I am?” Stiles repeats, confused.

“For, you know, dinner,” Derek reminds him and Stiles’ expression clears. “I heard my mom mentioning something about trying out a new recipe, just giving you a heads up.”

Stiles looks slightly horrified, “Oh, God.”

“Yeah, that was my reaction,” Derek laughs. “I can try and sneak a pizza up to my room, but I can’t promise she won’t find it and kill us.”

“It’s that nose of hers,” Stiles muses, “I swear the woman’s part wolf or something.”

“That’s my mom,” Derek sighs, almost proud. She can’t cook to save her life (or her children’s for that matter; if it weren’t for Derek’s father, they probably would’ve starved to death years ago, or – less dramatically – lived on take out) and she’s a little intimidating, but she loves them all fiercely and they love her just the same.

“Anyway, so pizza?” Derek asks.

“Yes, definitely,” Stiles agrees immediately, and they smile at each other for a moment.

He sees Erica waving to him from across the courtyard and flips her off, still annoyed with her for helping Laura keep tabs on him. Erica jabs her finger at the ground in front of her, _get your ass over here_ , and Derek knows that face, it’s the one that means she needs to talk.

He nods, signaling he’ll be there momentarily. “See you later?” he says to Stiles, who smirks in response.

“Sure. Later, big guy.” And he jogs back to Scott.

-

Kate Argent approaches him during lunch the day after.

“How’s it hangin’, hot stuff,” she says, smirking and shooing him over until he makes room for her to sit. “Missed you over break.”

“Wish I could say the same,” he says, only half-joking.

“You’re so cold,” Kate teases, but she’s smiles like this delights her.

Kate is... complex. She’s smart and manipulative; aggressive, but charming when she wants to be and has, for some reason, taken an interest in Derek.

His friends don’t like her and Derek can’t find a reason to blame them. He’s not sure really sure he likes her either most of the time, but he doesn’t want to be an asshole and tell her to leave, so he never objects when she decides to join them for lunch. He nods along as she talks at him, paying no more attention than strictly necessary, eyes wandering.

He notices Stiles eating lunch alone, sitting underneath a tree a little ways away from the quad, and Christ, how self-absorbed would Derek have to be to not even realize they shared the same lunch period five months into the school year?

Before he’s even really aware of what he’s doing, he’s quietly excusing himself from the table and making his way over.

Stiles doesn’t hear him approach. He’s hunched over a textbook, earphones in, and he’s highlighting line after line, tongue sticking out between his teeth in concentration. Derek feels a smile pressing at the corner of his mouth at the familiarity of the expression and pushes it down.

He kicks Stiles’ leg lightly.

Stiles peers up to check who it is, one eye closed against the sun, and smiles when he sees Derek. He pulls out an earbud. “What’s up, buddy?”

Derek shrugs, a little embarrassed now because he didn’t really have a reason for basically dropping everything, leaving his friends and Kate – who doesn’t really count as a friend – to come and talk to Stiles, but _here he is._

“Nothing,” he says, “just got a little bored and saw you over here by yourself, thought I’d see what you were doing.”

Stiles is watching him, looking confused, but all he says is, “Oh.”

Derek glances back at his friends. They’re still chattering away, though Kate seems a little put out.

“So where’s Scott?”

Stiles’ smile dims a little. He flicks his wrist toward the quad, the gesture irritated. “He’s right over there. You may not recognize him, as he is currently attached at the hip, and face, to another person.”

Derek follows his line of sight with a slight frown, and sees Scott locked in a very enthusiastic kiss with someone he doesn’t recognize at a nearby table.

“And that’s—” Derek trails off to allow Stiles to fill in the blanks.

“Kira, just started last week; very nice, very _pep_ py. Don’t get me wrong; I like her a lot, but Scott just—” Stiles cuts himself off suddenly, flushing. “Sorry, man, I know you probably don’t wanna hear me talk about this stuff,” he says with a laugh, looking down at his textbook.

And the way he says it. It’s like he can’t even _fathom_ Derek actually being interested in anything about him, even though Derek is the one who asked.

Derek sighs, feeling like an asshole all over, and plops to the ground beside Stiles.

“Nah, go on,” he says, nudging Stiles’ knee with his own. Stiles stares at him, surprised. “I’m invested now,” Derek says seriously.

Stiles chuckles, lifting his eyebrows skeptically. _If you say so_. “Well, if you can remember the train wreck that was Allison and Scott,” he says, giving Derek a meaningful glance.

Derek does. Everyone did.

Stiles notes the slightly horrified look on Derek’s face with a laugh. “Yeah, you remember,” he says. “So Scott, my good buddy, tends to get a little,” he scrunches up his face, searching for the right word. “I don’t know, caught up, I guess? when he’s in relationship mode. He’s barely talked to me since Kira agreed to go out with him, and her parents, unlike Allison’s, apparently love him, so they’re probably not gonna be forced to break up anytime soon, which means there goes my lunch buddy.”

Derek is silent for a moment, processing. “Well, that’s shitty,” he says eloquently, and Stiles laughs. “I mean, I get it, some people have that need to constantly be in a relationship, but he shouldn’t let it consume his entire life. What if they don’t work out, then what is he gonna do? He’ll have alienated his best friend.”

“His only friend,” Stiles corrects, dimpling.

Derek snorts softly. “His only friend,” he agrees, ignoring how pleased it makes him, knowing he’d managed to cheer Stiles up.

“You can always come sit with me, you know,” Derek offers. “You don’t have to sit over here alone.”

“I’m alone by choice, buddy,” Stiles says, “It was either that,” pointed look at Scott and Kira, “or this, and I chose this. I’m good here; it’s actually nice to have some time to myself.”

Derek nods, able to understand that because it is nice, under this tree here with Stiles.

And then a troubling thought occurs to him.  
“Am _I_ bothering you?”

Stiles’ face screws up like he doesn’t understand how Derek even jumped to that conclusion. “What? Of course not. It’s _you,”_ he says, as if that in itself should be explanation enough. It just leaves Derek even more off balance than he’s been feeling lately already.

“You sure?” he presses dumbly. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“Because I’m _so_ known for sparing people’s feelings, right,” Stiles says sarcastically. “I should ask if I’m bothering you, man. I mean, I just spent the last five minutes venting to you about Scott and you don’t even like him that much.”

Which is sort of accurate, but ignoring that. “Well, I did ask,” Derek points out.

Stiles thinks about it and slowly dips his head in concession. “True,” he says, and Derek laughs. Stiles watches him for a moment, but when Derek lifts his chin, silently asking what’s up, his eyes dart away, catching on something over behind Derek.

The side of his mouth lifts. “I think your friends miss you, buddy. You should probably get back before they file a kidnapping report or something. You know how much my dad hates it when I get arrested.”

Derek flips Erica off over his shoulder without looking and says, “You gotta stop saying it like you’ve actually been arrested, Stiles. You were picked up _once_ for going two miles over the speed limit in a school zone and it was only because that new deputy didn’t know you were the sheriff’s kid.”

“Why do you have to be such a hater, Derek,” Stiles complains, “just let me pretend I have some street cred.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Derek says brightly, clapping Stiles patronizingly on the arm and then using his shoulder to push himself to his feet. As he turns to leave, Stiles latches on to his wrist, holding him back, and Derek kind of sways into him, caught off guard.

“See you at dinner?” Stiles asks, looking up at him from beneath his lashes, and Derek is very suddenly reminded of the events of the last time Stiles was over his house.

His face warms, throat clicking audibly. “See you at dinner,” he repeats weakly.

Stiles smiles and releases him, putting his earphones back in and grabbing his highlighter. Derek walks away, doing his best to ignore the illogical anticipation building in his gut.

-

“Who’s that?” Kate asks him, nodding towards the tree where he’d left Stiles.

“Uh. A friend,” Derek says uncomfortably. The bell rings, saving him from having to explain any further.

-

Derek goes downstairs to get a glass of water, maybe find a snack before dinner, just as the sheriff and his family are letting themselves in, hanging up their coats.

Claudia and John greet him happily, smiling and asking him how his Christmas had been, how school was going, before Stiles all but shoos them away.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s great, he’s the son you always wish you had, but ya don’t; you’re stuck with this, so beat it.”

Claudia gives Derek an amused look while John lightly swats his son on the back of the head and then apologizes to Derek for his child’s behavior.

“We really don’t know where he gets it from,” the sheriff sighs.

Claudia lifts her eyebrows. “I do.”

“Yeah, from his mother,” John mutters conspiratorially to Derek, reaching over to give his shoulder a quick squeeze as he takes his wife’s hand. They head to the kitchen in search of beer and possibly Derek’s parents.

“So did you get it?” Stiles whispers, acting all shifty and paranoid like Derek was supposed to be picking up drugs instead of a pizza.

Derek stifles a laugh. “False alarm; Dad cooked.”

“Oh, thank God,” Stiles lets out, relieved. “I love your mom, but her cooking is—” he falters, panic filling his expression, “—wonderful, the best I’ve ever had,” he squeaks.

For a moment, Derek is horribly confused – because no, her cooking is revolting, anyone with a functioning nose and taste buds will tell you that – right up until he realizes his mother has crept up behind them, listening to every word.

“Hi, Ma,” he chirps.

“Hello, traitor,” she returns with a flat stare. He doesn’t feel too bad about it, though, because Stiles receives an equally icy, “Nice save.”

“Hey, I meant every word,” Stiles argues, offended even though he’s lying out of his ass.

“Yeah, and how am I a traitor?” Derek asks, “I didn’t even say anything bad!”

His mother glares. “‘False alarm,’” she repeats accusingly, _“‘Dad_ cooked?’”

Derek exchanges a look with Stiles.

“Sorry?” they both offer, wincing.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Ungrateful children, in my own damn house—” she mutters as she stomps off towards the dining room.

“I love your cooking, Ma,” Derek calls after her, earning another glare for his efforts.

Stiles elbows him in the ribs once she’s out of sight, chortling. “You’re _such_ a kiss ass, man—”

“Oh, I’m a kiss ass? _‘Wonderful,’”_ Derek mimics in a high-pitched voice, _“‘Best I ever had.’”_ Stiles shoves him, laughing harder. “Who the hell do you think you’re even kidding with that bullshit-”

“Oh my God, I do not sound like that,” Stiles wheezes, “shut up, you dick.”

-

Dinner is good, wonderful even, and afterwards, his mother sticks him and Stiles on clean up as revenge for the earlier exchange. No surprise there.

It’s normal enough, but Derek can’t help but be hyperaware of how close they are, proximity-wise, how Stiles keeps smiling at him, throwing his head back and laughing whenever Derek cracks a joke, showing off his white teeth and pale throat.

Derek can feel his face getting warmer and warmer every time their arms or hands accidentally brush together as he passes Stiles a dish to dry, every time their hips bump into each other or he catches Stiles watching him. He must look like a fucking tomato.

If it weren’t for how good of a kiss it was, Derek would almost wish it had never happened. But then maybe not because he might never have realized what an ass he was being to Stiles.

Then again, he wouldn’t be so _aware_ of him now either so, yeah. He’s a little torn.

“You wanna go up to my room?” Derek asks once they’ve finished. “Or we can go in there,” he says reluctantly, nodding toward the living room where Laura and the kids are watching that David Bowie movie with the puppets that he knows Stiles loves.

“Let’s go to your room.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, “Really? You’re passing on Labyrinth?”

“Yeah, come on, I wanted to talk to you anyway,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek by the arm and tugging him upstairs.

“Talk to me about what?” Derek asks warily.

Shit, what if Stiles has realized how fixated Derek is on him all of the sudden, or what if he thinks it’s creepy how Derek seems to be following him around school, always popping up and trying to strike up a conversation? He didn’t mean to make Stiles uncomfortable, he was only trying to make amends for his behavior in the past, trying to be a better friend after neglecting him so long.

“Hold on.” Stiles pushes him inside the room and slides the door shut quietly. Derek sits at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, waiting.

Stiles approaches him slowly, chewing on his lower lip.

“Out with it, you’re starting to make me nervous.”

“Sorry, I’m just thinking of a way to say this without it sounding weird.”

“Just say it, Stiles, I can handle it,” Derek says tensely, but Stiles gives him a look like he’s not sure that’s true. “Did I _do_ something—?”

“Oh, no. No, don’t worry; it’s nothing bad. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about last time,” Stiles says, and Derek doesn’t have to ask, he knows which time Stiles is referring to, is just glad that Stiles is the one bringing it up so he doesn’t have to. “And I realized that we didn’t really get a chance to talk about it,” Stiles says, a bit shyly. “I mean, I, personally, thought it went well, but you never said how it was for you. Is it- was it, uh, good? For you?” The wheels start turning in Derek’s mind as Stiles rambles, mouth eventually snapping shut like he had to make himself stop talking.

Derek decides to downplay just how much he’d liked it. He can’t let Stiles know that it was more than good for him, can’t let Stiles know that that simple kiss that hadn’t so much as given him pause had basically tipped Derek’s entire worldview on its’ axis.

Derek shrugs. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Stiles repeats, expression doing something complicated, somehow offended and worried all at once. “Is that your really polite way of saying I’m a shitty kisser?”

“You weren’t shitty, Stiles,” Derek sighs.

Stiles waits, and then when Derek doesn’t continue, he presses. “But?”

“Well, there’s always room for improvement,” he says after a moment, because it’s the only semi-plausible response he can think of, even if wholly untrue.

Stiles eyes him, speculative. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“I don’t know, find someone to practice kissing with more? What do you want me to tell you, Stiles,” Derek asks exasperatedly.

Stiles glares at him. “I don’t know, _Derek_ , it’s not like I can just walk up to someone, and say, ‘hey, wanna help me practice making out?’”

“What happened to your girlfriend? Can’t she help you?”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend and that’s over anyway. We decided we weren’t compatible.”

Derek’s irritation fades. “Sorry,” he says awkwardly.

Stiles deflates, rubbing his hand over his face. “Don’t be, it wasn’t like it was serious or anything. My point is, I don’t have offers rolling in off the street, dude. And I don’t wanna be labeled as a bad kisser for the rest of my life.”

The obvious solution, here, would be for Derek to offer his assistance, but he can’t because. Because...

Come to think of it, there’s really no reason Derek can’t. He’s unattached, Stiles is unattached so there’s nothing stopping them. It’s not like they haven’t already done it, and Derek isn’t necessarily against a repeat performance.

Derek ignores the warning bells going off in his head and says, “I could help you out again. If you want.”

Stiles expression goes unbearably relieved. “Would you? God, I feel terrible for asking you,” he says, eyebrows drawn up adorably.

“I don’t mind.”

Stiles gives him this look, like he wants to ask why, _how_ do you not mind, but he says nothing, just runs his hands through his hair, as jittery as the first time around.

“So, uh, how do you want to—” Stiles gestures around vaguely, suddenly shy again, unable to meet Derek’s eye.

Derek smiles, just a little, and pulls him in closer by his belt loops, brackets Stiles’ skinny legs with his thighs. “This okay?”

Stiles’ breath quivers as he leans in, puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders, Derek’s coming to rest lightly on his hips. “Like this?” he asks, pupils flaring as his eyes dart down to Derek’s mouth, and Derek nods slowly, unable to keep from doing the same.

Stiles closes the distance first this time, pecking Derek on the lips chastely a few times before really diving in, lazily sliding his tongue into Derek’s mouth. Derek happily lets him take the lead, keeping his hands steady on Stiles’ waist, thumb tracing back and forth over his hip while Stiles kisses the breath out of him.

His memory hadn’t exaggerated; Stiles really is a natural, seems to sense without having to be told how to make it good for Derek and how to keep it comfortable without it becoming monotonous.

They pull apart by some mutual decision, a thin string of saliva connecting them and breaking.

“Any pointers?” Stiles gasps, nose pressed into Derek’s cheek.

It takes Derek a second to remember that that’s why they’re doing this, to ‘improve Stiles’ technique.’

“Not sure; need more data,” Derek says stupidly, and Stiles is laughing and obliging him, sucking on his lip gently and taking him deeper again. Stiles moves in closer this time, chest pressed against Derek’s, arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders, and he’s making those soft, punched-out little sounds like last time.

Derek pulls off to give them a breather (them being him and his fast-growing-interested dick), puts his head on Stiles’ shoulder and sucks in deep breaths through his nostrils.

“So, I think we’re making real progress, here, huh?” Stiles pants, fingers combing through Derek’s hair as he speaks. “Doing a good job, if I do say so myself. Really, uh, getting in there.”

Derek huffs a laugh and drops a kiss just below his left ear without thinking. Stiles stiffens, just for an instant, and Derek flushes, starts to back off, mentally kicking himself.

“Shit, that feels good,” Stiles sighs, sinking deeper into Derek’s arms.

And Derek isn’t embarrassed anymore, but the flush stays. He leaves a trail of kisses from Stiles’ ear to his throat and up to his jaw, feather-light, just testing the waters, until Stiles is breathing hard, mouth parted, eyes closed. It might be the prettiest thing Derek’s ever seen.

He carefully drags his tongue from the line of his jaw and back to where he started, sucking Stiles’ earlobe in his mouth and Stiles _whines_ , and twitches, moaning, _“I’m sorry,”_ all mortified and cute, and Derek is suddenly very aware that Stiles is hard and pressed against him, hips hitching and rocking, trying to get just a little relief.

Stiles starts to pull away when he realizes what he’s doing, like he’s going to leave or something, and Derek can’t have that.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, c’mere,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles goes willingly, biting down on his lip and soothing it with his tongue.

Derek doesn’t let himself read too much into it; it’s just a physical reaction to being touched by someone that isn’t himself. It’s not _for_ him, it’s not _because_ of him; it’s the situation.

Still doesn’t keep him from chubbing up even more in his pants or leaning up to get another of those addictive kisses, and then another, and another.

Stiles groans into his mouth, reaching down to grip himself, trying to get it under control, and Derek resists the urge to push his hand out of the way and do it himself, do it _right_. Which is frightening because not once, in his seventeen years of life, has he felt the urge to touch a dick that wasn’t his own, and that’s not what this was supposed to be about anyway.

Stiles breaks away, chest heaving. “We should, ah, we should probably stop. Right? We shouldn’t— keep—” he ducks in to press another sloppy kiss to Derek’s mouth mid-word, like he can’t help himself.

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs in agreement, “We should stop,” and Stiles nods and climbs in his lap instead, straddling his legs.

Derek’s hands wander up the back of his shirt, sliding up his spine, fingers digging into his shoulderblades as Stiles grinds lightly against him, mouths moving together easily, like a well-oiled machine at this point.

Stiles settles further into his lap, rolling his hips down on Derek’s, his eyes shooting open when he feels Derek straining in his pants beneath him.

Derek wants to get defensive, grumble, _what did you think would happen with all your wiggling and that mouth_ ; wants to apologize and crawl under his covers and die a little bit, too. But Stiles doesn’t really seem to mind.

He lets out a quiet, _“Fuck,”_ and then he’s pushing Derek backwards and climbing up him, aligning their hips until they’re at _just_ the right angle—

Little fists pound on the door and they freeze.

“Did you lock the door?” Derek hisses.

“I don’t remember,” Stiles says, equally as panicked.

“Let us in! Let us in!” the twins shriek, door handle jiggling. Thankfully, they still have a bit of trouble getting it open.

Stiles rolls off of Derek and dives for the other side of the bed. After a second’s consideration, he grabs a pillow and puts it on his lap. Derek decides that’s a good idea and does the same.

His little sisters manage to finagle the door open, barely making it a few feet inside before their mother appears behind them, looking amused. “You two know you’re not supposed to go upstairs by yourself.”

“But Cora was chasing us, Mama,” Poppy whines.

“She said was gonna lock us in the closet,” Margot says.

“Did she? Well, then, I guess that means Cora doesn’t get any ice cream.” Talia holds out her hands and the twins grab them instantly, too young to know the difference between fruit sherbet and the good shit their dad keeps hidden in the back of the freezer. Derek almost feels sorry for them. Until he remembers what they’d interrupted.

He peeks over at Stiles, who’s still flushed, but not as badly as he’d been and looking a lot more collected than Derek feels.

“Your parents are just about ready to go home,” Talia mentions to Stiles as she guides the twins from the room, and he nods, setting the pillow aside and following her out.

Derek tells himself he doesn’t get to be disappointed that Stiles hadn’t so much as said goodbye; he’d probably just forgotten. Shit, they’d almost been caught by Derek’s _mom_ , he probably would have run out of here like that, too, if their roles had been reversed.

He gets up with a sigh, resigning himself to another sleepless night when Stiles runs back in the open door and smacks into him, placing a kiss on his startled mouth. Derek’s arms hang in the air around Stiles for a brief moment before he very enthusiastically gets with the program.

Stiles’ dad calls his name from downstairs, and Stiles retreats, smiling at Derek and shouting, “One sec!” He gives Derek a little wave before he disappears into the hallway.

Derek sinks down to the edge of the bed, hands clasped loosely, head spinning. So not a fluke, but not something Derek is entirely willing to define just yet.

-

He doesn’t see Stiles around Friday, though he looks and looks, getting teased by Erica and Isaac for the way he can’t seem to keep his eyes still when they notice.

The Stilinskis come over the next day for an early dinner. Stiles isn’t with them.

His little sister kicks him in the shin, “Where’s Stiles,” Cora asks.

“How the hell should I know,” Derek says under his breath, already irritated beyond belief.

“Derek,” his mother snaps. Derek winces and stares at the table. “Apologize to your sister.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, clearly not meaning it. His mother gives him a warning look, but Cora just smiles at him sweetly and slingshots a stray pea at him off her spoon from across the table when no one is paying attention. She never misses; it hits him square in the eye.

That’ll teach him for being an asshole to an eight year old.

He catches up with the Sheriff after dinner, heading him off on his way back from the kitchen where he was grabbing a bottle of wine.

“Uh, hi, Sheriff,” Derek mumbles nervously.

The elder Stilinski gives him a look that says, _don’t pull that, boy_. “Still John, Derek.”

“Sorry, Sheriff,” Derek stutters. “I mean, John.” He grimaces directly afterwards, but tries to play it down. The name doesn’t fit quite right in his mouth.

The sheriff laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Well, Jesus, kid, if it makes you that uncomfortable, you can call me Sheriff.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Derek says, relieved. “Habit.”

John shakes his head, still smiling. “So what’s up, kid; you look nervous. Need me to scrub something off your record?”

 _“No!”_ It leaves his mouth a lot louder than he meant it to. John puts his hands up, though he still seems amused.

“I mean, no, nothing like that,” Derek says in a much more dignified manner. “I was just wondering where Stiles is because he’s not here and he usually comes with you guys; actually, I’m pretty sure this is maybe the second time in the last sixteen years he hasn’t been here and the last time was when he was camped out for the new Star Wars movie with McCall even though no one does that anymore because he’s a nerd.”

And there goes his dignity. He literally has to force himself to stop talking. His ears are burning and he’s looking at the floor, unable to meet John’s eye.

“Oh,” the sheriff says, sounding surprised, and Derek wonders how he never really realized that no one around here thinks he’s actually Stiles’ friend. “He’s over at that girl’s house again— I forget her name.”

Again? It hits Derek harder than he expected, harder than it should probably, but he pastes on a smile and says, “Ah, yeah, he mentioned something about that. Thanks, Sheriff.”

John claps him on the shoulder and leaves him, and Derek goes up to his room and doesn’t come out the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments; I'll do my best to update again soon ❤️


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one’s for frank ocean who, like me, is known for updating once every four years (Although I see he’s getting better, and aspire to do the same)
> 
> Sorry it’s been a while guys; it’s the Depression. I am once again posting from my phone and there are bound to be some grammatical errors or spacing fuck ups because ao3 hates me but I tried guys I tried

“Heard you missed me at dinner the other day.”

Derek jumps, nearly knocking his head on the inside of his locker. He curses and extracts himself, already glaring. Stiles is perched on the wall to his left, smiling mischievously.

“Just not used to getting to enjoy a meal with your family in peace,” Derek replies snarkily. He slams his locker shut and tries to will away the self-conscious flush spreading to his ears. He loves John, but fuck, Stiles hadn’t gotten that big mouth from his mom. “Have to admit, it was kind of nice.”

Stiles flashes him a grin, unbothered, and falls into step beside him. “Sorry, buddy,” he says. “I wanted to come, but I got stuck with Lydia on a Bio project and even though I tried reminding her it’s not due for a month, she wanted to get started early.”

Derek lifts his chin in understanding, “Ah.” He feels dumb for jumping to conclusions. Not that it’s his business either way really.

“Yeah, ‘ah,’” Stiles snorts, nudging him in the side. “What’d you think I was doing, dummy?”

“I don’t know,” Derek shrugs, pushing aside his growing embarrassment. “Your dad mentioned a girl, and I just felt a little sorry for her, I guess—”

Stiles barks a half-offended, half-delighted sounding laugh and knocks into Derek with his shoulder, “Shut the hell up-”

“I mean, I know, firsthand, what dealing with you can be like, so—” Derek breaks off with a laugh as Stiles shoves him into a nearby locker and walks away in a huff. Derek goes after him gleefully, throwing his arm around Stiles’ neck.

“Such a dick,” Stiles mutters, poorly holding back a grin.

Derek keeps him in his pseudo-headlock all the way to class, both snorting with laughter as Stiles jabs him with his long, spidery fingers in the stomach and ribs. Derek only lets him go after the first bell rings and witnesses start coming in from outside.

“Thanks, asshole, you messed up my hair,” Stiles complains, shoving Derek again and running his fingers through his, admittedly, fucked up hair. Derek stifles a laugh.

“Don’t worry, kid; it didn’t look great to begin with,” he replies seriously.

Stiles shoots him a dirty look and continues trying to fix his hair, somehow managing to make it look even more ridiculous in the process, like a really unkempt porcupine.

Derek lets out a sigh and reaches out, “Here.” He rolls his eyes at Stiles’ suspicious look and knocks his clumsy hands out of the way, smoothing down the stubborn locks into something less abhorrent.

He steps back, eyes narrowed, and reaches up to fix a few stray hairs. “There,” he murmurs, “that’s good.”

Stiles’ face is red. “Th-thanks.” Derek’s ears burn in response.

They stare at each other for a moment, and Derek is back in his room, his fingers digging into Stiles’ hips and Stiles making those small, stifled noises into his mouth—

Derek puts on a smile and claps Stiles on the arm, harder than strictly necessary because that’s what bros do. They talk shit and horse around and definitely don’t think about making out with their bros in the middle of crowded hallways.

“Now you don’t look like a homeless person,” Derek tells him, “For once.”

Stiles snorts and the tension is gone.

“Dick. I don’t have to take this,” he says, mock-offended. He knocks past Derek and heads toward his class. “Later, loser,” Stiles calls cheerfully over his shoulder, disappearing before Derek has a chance to yell something insulting back.

Derek shakes his head, laughing to himself, and turns. Erica is waiting in the doorway of their own class, watching him with a look that Derek does not care for.

“What?” Derek mutters.

Erica lifts her eyebrows innocently. “Nothing.”

Derek makes a point of not seeking Stiles out for the rest of the day.

-

He gets out of lacrosse late, and Boyd drops him off at home just in time to catch his mom chopping up vegetables for what appears to be a pretty epic salad. She might not be much of a cook, but she’s handy with a knife.

“Hey, ma,” he greets her, planting a kiss on her cheek on his way to the fridge.

She grunts something close to a hello and continues chopping tomatoes at a frighteningly high speed.

“Cup,” she says sternly, just as he’s pulling out the milk carton. Derek makes a face at her back. “And drop the attitude, or next time you ask to take out the car...” She doesn’t finish the thought, but the message is clear.

It’s not much of a threat; he hardly asks for it anyway, but he doesn’t want to poke the bear. He obediently grabs a glass, fills it, and hops up on the counter beside her.

“What’re we having for dinner?” he asks, draining the cup and setting it aside, feet swinging.

She gives him a look. “Why? Worried your father might not be cooking tonight?”  
Christ, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“I already apologized a thousand times,” he groans. “And you gave me extra chores for a week.” His mother smiles to herself; it’s obviously a cherished memory. “It was Stiles’ fault, too,” he grumbles.

Talia harrumphs and sets aside the tomatoes, wiping her hands on a dish cloth. “You two have gotten close lately,” she comments idly.

Derek’s feet stop swinging. “We’ve always been close.”

She fixes him with a look, and Derek keeps his head down. Had everyone really noticed how he’d kept Stiles at distance these past few years but him?

“Well, I think it’s nice. He’s a good kid. Unlike Whittemore’s boy—”

“You only dislike Jackson because you dislike his father.”

“I dislike him based on his own merits.”

Derek laughs because even though they’re kind of friends, he knows Jackson is an acquired taste.

“He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.” He’s worse, but Derek won’t give his mother the satisfaction of knowing that.

His mother appears skeptical. “Be that as it may, I always thought Stiles was good for you.” Derek flushes down to his toes before he understands what she means.

He nods toward the rest of the uncut vegetables, “Need help with that?”

“Subtle,” she mutters, handing him a cucumber and a knife.

-

He gets the urge to text Stiles and tell him that Talia actually thinks he might be a good influence on Derek’s life, knowing Stiles would get a laugh out of it—he even gets as far as pulling his phone out and scrolling through his contacts when it occurs to him that he doesn’t have Stiles’ number. And that just won’t do.

-

He tries to catch Stiles before class the next day, but unfortunately, Laura doesn’t care so much about tardiness when it doesn’t directly affect her, and afterward, his teacher asks him to hang back to discuss his essay and how little effort and thought was put into it. Stiles is long gone by the time Derek’s teacher lets him go.

Derek doesn’t usually see him around until lunch, but keeps an eye out, just in case. There are a few times he catches a glimpse of a brightly colored hoodie or bit of flannel, but they never pan out.

Stiles doesn’t always eat lunch outside, but today he’s sitting under the same tree as last time, earphones in, textbook and highlighter out. Derek’s about to join him when he notices a small, redheaded girl marching towards him.

Lydia Martin stands over Stiles, somehow towering though she can’t be much more than five feet, arms crossed.

Stiles jumps when he notices her, skittering backwards on his hands like he’s seen a demon. He clutches his chest and Derek can’t help but smile. They talk for a minute, and then Stiles is standing and shrugging off his outermost layer, laying it on the ground beside him and doing a sarcastic half bow as he offers it to Lydia.

Derek catches her smirking as she daintily sets herself down, and feels a sharp pang hit him somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He tells himself that it’s probably about their Bio project, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. She takes the proffered seat and immediately snatches up Stiles’ backpack, digging through it and extracting a notebook.

Lydia shows no sign of leaving any time soon, and Derek reluctantly sits at his normal table. Kate slides into the spot next to him and follows his gaze to where Stiles and Lydia are leaning over some notes, heads bowed closely together, comfortably.

“They look cute together. Don’t you think?” Kate asks, innocent.

Derek frowns down at his plate and avoids looking in their direction for the rest of the lunch period, the sinking feeling in his gut growing and growing.

-

Finstock sends him on some mindless errand, staples from the supply room. Why Coach decided staples were needed during weight training is beyond him, but he’s learned not to question it.

He catches sight of Stiles wandering the hallways, nose buried in his phone and makes a beeline for him. He pokes Stiles in the side.

Stiles looks at him, a surprised smile taking over his face. “You stalking me, big guy?”

Derek snorts dismissively, ears burning. “You caught me,” he replies flatly.

Stiles laughs. “Knew it.” His phone chimes, and it reminds Derek why he’s been looking for him all day.

“Hey, let me see your phone real quick—” He reaches out to take it out of Stiles’ hand, but Stiles yanks it towards his chest, eyes going wide and defensive.

“What, no, why?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Just let me see it for a second,” he says, reaching for it again.

Stiles backs away from him, holding the phone high. “No way, man.”

Derek lunges, but quickly realizes that Stiles has a longer reach than he does. Stiles lights up as he comes to the same realization and jogs backwards, waving the phone around with a huge grin.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Derek mutters.

“Heck yeah, I am. Finally get to pay you back for all those games of keep away and monkey in the middle when we were younger.”

“That was years ago,” Derek protests.

“And time does not heal all wounds,” Stiles says sagely, and Derek snarls and makes another grab for the phone. Stiles dodges him neatly, bizarrely graceful for someone who can barely walk across a flat surface, and grins harder as he picks up the pace.

Derek chases him, glaring and breathing heavily, which he is choosing to blame on just coming out of training and not him being woefully out of shape.

“Stiles, stop being stupid and let me see your fucking phone.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Stiles taunts gleefully. And then he hits a wall of lockers.

He looks over his shoulder and back to Derek, laughing nervously. “Whoops.”

Derek advances on Stiles, panting and glaring. “I caught you. Hand it over.”

Stiles swallows audibly and shakes his head, stretching out on his tiptoes and holding his cell as high as he can. “Death before defeat.”

Derek is tempted to jump for it, but isn’t prepared to face the repercussions if he fails. Mockery, ridicule, etc.

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” Stiles says, a touch too smug for his taste.

Derek’s eyes narrow, a terrible idea coming to him. Before he can overthink it, or think at all, he grins and ducks in, licking a stripe up Stiles’ neck.

Stiles lets out a strange noise, guard dropping entirely and Derek is able to pluck the phone from his fingers with ease.

“What the fuck, dude?” Stiles squeaks, smacking his hand down over the wet streak.  
Derek lets out a laugh as he punches in his number and thrusts Stiles’ phone back against his chest.

Stiles’ eyes widen comically, mechanically grabbing his phone with the hand that’s not pressed to his neck, over the spot Derek had licked.

Derek smirks. “Now you have my number.” He pats Stiles’ chest and turns away.

-

His phone vibrates against his leg as he runs back to class, face burning as his actions begin to sink in. He’d just licked Stiles. In public.

**« could’ve just said you wanted to give me your number like a normal person »**

Derek smirks at the accompanying eye-roll emoji, able to picture Stiles’ expression perfectly in his mind.

**» Nah. My way was more interesting. «**

Stiles doesn’t answer him for a while. Derek rereads his text over and over, mentally kicking himself because now that he sees it, it definitely looks like flirting.

**« Yeah ur probably right »**

**» Aren’t I always «**

**« If u say so big guy »**

Derek laughs.

“Something you want to share with the rest of us, Hale?”

His head snaps up. Coach is glaring at him, clearly astounded that anyone isn’t one-hundred percent invested in the Independence Day speech he’d been giving that has nothing at all to do with lifting weights. Or lacrosse, or any of the other things Coach incorporates that speech into. Stiles told him once that he heard Coach using it to get out of a parking ticket, and Derek smiles, remembering how hard Stiles’ shoulders had shook.

“Hale,” Coach barks. “Get that goofy look off your face and answer the question.”

“Uh, no. I’m good.” Derek tucks his phone away.

He’s probably not.

-

He’s restless by the time school lets out. Jittery. He sees Stiles walking out to the parking lot with Lydia, and is mildly taken aback by how much it dampens his mood. He fishes his phone out of his pants.

**» Gimme a ride home «**

He keeps an eye on Stiles, waiting for his reaction. Stiles pulls his phone out of his back pocket and the smile on his face has Derek’s lips twitching in response.

**« That’s it? No questions? What if I had plans Derek »**

It pulls Derek up short.

**» Do you? «**

Stiles rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, contemplative.

Lydia asks him a question, drawing his attention and Stiles looks mildly apologetic. He shakes his head and Derek swears he can hear Lydia huffing from clear across the parking lot.

**« Nope. Where u at »**

Derek tries not to feel smug and fails miserably.

**» I see u hold on «**

By the time he reaches them, Lydia has her hand on her hip and is in the middle of dressing Stiles down. “—not going to let you fuck my grade up just because you want to get in—”

“Derek,” Stiles says loudly. “There you are, you big ol’ creeper. You ready to go?”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Derek replies with a lazy smile.

“You’re not interrupting, you’re saving me,” Stiles hisses, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him toward the bright blue monstrosity in the back row of the lot. Louder, over his shoulder he says, “Bye, Lydia. We’ll talk more later.”

Derek waves at Lydia with an impish grin. She narrows her eyes and walks away, muttering an impressive stream of curses as she goes.

“What crawled up her ass,” Derek asks, enjoying himself just a little. Stiles comes to a stop behind his jeep and releases him.

“Nothing. She’s just worried I’m not...focused enough,” Stiles answers distractedly, digging around his pockets for his keys. “Found ‘em. Let’s get out of here.”

-

He’s not sure how to casually broach the topic of Stiles staying and hanging out, so it’s almost a relief when Stiles throws the jeep into park outside his house and hops out before Derek has a chance to think of an excuse to get him inside.

Stiles follows him into the house, hanging up his hoodie next to Derek’s.

Derek nods toward the living room. “Wanna see what’s on?”

“Nah, lets go hang out in your room,” Stiles says, already leading the way.

Stiles throws himself at Derek’s bed, bouncing a few times. Derek walks around picking up a few stray pieces of laundry and kicking some shoes under his bed.

“Where’s everyone at?”

Derek shrugs. “Mom and Laura are working, and Dad probably took the twins on a playdate or to the park or to one of his Mommy and Me classes.”

Stiles snorts a little. “Well, I’m glad I got you alone,” he admits, sitting up and setting his hands in his lap, turning his full attention on Derek.

Derek swallows. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about—” Stiles’ phone goes off. “Hold on a second.” He swipes across the screen and smiles.

“Who’s that?”

Stiles finishes tapping out a message and smirks up at him. “Why, you jealous?” Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s just Danny. He sent me a link for this video we were talking about earlier.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were ...close,” Derek says stiffly.

Stiles snorts. “We’re not really. I kinda let it slip that I was,” he hesitates for a moment, biting on his lip nervously and lets out in a rush, “maybe, sort of not exactly one-hundred percent straight, and I guess he decided to take me on as his new pet project or something.”

Stiles is still looking determinedly at his phone, fingernails tapping at the screen in an anxious rhythm and all Derek can do is stare, mouth working like a fish.

It takes him a while to put together a response. “You’re...not...straight,” he repeats stupidly.

Stiles winces. “Pretty sure, no?” He flushes, ducking his head. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hide it from you or anything; it’s kind of a new development. I know you’ve been helping me out so it’s probably weird, but I promise I wasn’t, like, trying to take advantage—”

Derek approaches him and puts his hands on his shoulders to calm him, trying to let Stiles know it doesn’t change anything with them. “I don’t care. Doesn’t bother me.”

Stiles blinks up at him, relieved. “Thanks.”

A disturbing thought occurs to him. “You and Danny aren’t—?”

“No!” Stiles says quickly. “No, no, no. Not that Danny isn’t good looking and awesome. But we are- not.”

Derek doesn’t know why he feels so relieved.

“So, what do you mean by ‘pretty sure’?” he asks, letting Stiles go and sprawling out on the bed beside him because there’s no real good reason for Derek to keep touching him.

Stiles blushes again, grimacing at the floor. “Well, like I said; it’s new. Not new, new, exactly, but I’ve never given it much thought, y’know? I’ve always been a curious guy, but I tried looking up some good, uh,” he clears his throat, avoiding eye contact, “material online, and it was hard to get into. Mostly because Scott kept interrupting.”

Derek feels something cold wash over him. “Scott was there,” he says flatly.

Stiles’ eyes widen. “What? Well, yeah, eventually, but not while I was trying to, like,” he makes a jerking motion with his hand, and Derek settles, amusement replacing the foreign feeling. “Kira went to San Francisco with her parents over the weekend and Scott was being all weird and clingy because the person who occupies ninety-eight percent of his time was out of town.”

“So Scott interrupted your...research,” Derek says.

Stiles nods and hunches over, holding his head in his hands, sounding frustrated. “Yeah, and I’m not really sure if I only like it in theory, or if it’s real. What if I get with a guy and he whips out his dick and I just...freeze or freak out or something?”

It hits Derek hard, how much he dislikes the thought of Stiles and this faceless, hypothetical stranger. He sets that aside, though, and concentrates on being helpful.

“I’m sure a lot of people feel that way,” Derek says, trying for a reassuring smile. It feels tight and wrong on his mouth. “Guess you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.”

Stiles nods, biting his lip. “Well, that’s one way to do it. But I was thinking-”

“Never a good sign,” Derek says, and Stiles shoves him in the side, laughing.

“Shut up,” he mutters. He stares at Derek for a moment, growing serious again. “I was thinking, since you’ve been so helpful with all the other stuff, maybe... I could- we could-”

It takes a moment for Derek to catch on.  
His lungs constrict in his chest. “You want to—?”

“You don’t have to,” Stiles says quickly, like he always does, as if he’s trying to spare Derek somehow, as if Derek hasn’t been a willing and eager participant in everything they’ve done. “I know lending a bro a hand only goes so far.” His mouth twitches at the double entendre, but the humor fades fast, an edge of anxiety overtaking it.

“It’s not that, Stiles. This is... this is a big step. For you,” Derek adds belatedly, his voice strange.

Stiles crooks him an off smile. “You know what? Don’t worry about it, buddy. I should’ve known this was too much to ask before I even thought of it. But, uh, hey, forget I said anything, please, and I’ll just—” he starts to move from the bed, and Derek is reaching out before he realizes, holding him in place by the arm.

“I didn’t say no. I just don’t,” Derek swallows thickly. “I just don’t want you to do anything you end up regretting.”

Stiles faces him slowly. “And if I say I won’t?”

The voice that’s usually screaming at him at this point is strangely quiet. Probably recognizes that he’s a lost cause and gave up entirely.

“Then lock the door. I’m not getting caught with your hands down my pants.”

Stiles laughs, this high-pitched, nervous thing, and locks the door.

Derek plucks at the bottom of his shirt, filled with nervous energy and anticipation. He only has a second to work himself into a mild panic before Stiles jumps into his lap, all long limbs and elbows. He nearly knocks Derek in the teeth. He mumbles an apology and Derek just laughs and settles him into a position where he’s not about to fall out on his ass. Stiles’ mouth is on his before he can blink.

He’s used to some hesitation, but it’s probably better this way, no chance for either of them to overthink.

They fit together seamlessly by now. Old news. And yet Derek still has to remember to breathe, heart pounding in his chest so loudly Stiles has to hear or feel it beating against his chest.

Stiles breaks away sooner than he’d like, pressing his lips to Derek’s cheek, his jaw, the dimple in his chin while Derek mouths at his shoulder. “Still up to snuff?”

Derek tilts his head and shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re alright.”

Stiles lets out a short laugh, breath fanning across Derek’s ear. “I’m the best you’ve ever had, admit it.”

He is. “Top five,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles ducks in and licks a wet line across Derek’s throat, tongue flat and wide and warm.

Derek’s toes curl. “Um.” He wasn’t expecting that to feel so good. It shouldn’t feel that good. “Top three?”

Stiles nips at him, teeth gently gliding over his pulse point and begins to suck, tongue intermittently slipping out and soothing his skin. Derek squirms.

Stiles pulls back and appraises him.

“What?” Derek asks, defensive.

Stiles smirks. “Nothing. I was worried you didn’t approve, but I have a, uh, little feeling that’s not the case,” he answers with a little wiggle of his hips, bringing attention to the hardness pushing against the inside of his thigh.

“Big feeling,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles laughs. Derek grins back and pulls Stiles in to get that mouth back on his.

His arms wind around Stiles’ thighs, pulling him in closer, shivering when Stiles’ fingers comb through his hair, his lips slipping and catching on Derek’s.

Derek breaks away first, needing a minute to catch his breath and maybe concentrate on not nutting in his pants while his childhood friend kisses him stupid.

Stiles looks dazed, but his eyes are oddly focused as he pushes Derek over and settles back on his knees, toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“You can say no if you want me to stop,” Stiles says, looking down like he’s just waiting for it to finally be enough.

Derek touches his arm, drags his fingertips down to Stiles’ hand and Stiles’ eyes meet his. “Don’t stop.”

Stiles looks at him like he’s trapped there, like he wants to look away but he’s stuck somehow. He clears his throat.

He pushes Derek’s shirt up and puts his hand flat on Derek’s belly and lets it slide down through the patch below his navel and into his pants. Stiles’ fingers are bony and long and clever, Derek’s always liked them. He appreciates them that much more, as they tentatively glide against him.

Stiles touches the hair around the base of it curiously, getting a feel for the texture and density before traveling lower. Derek stares down at the hand disappearing inside his pants, mouth open, breath heavy.

Stiles feels around, brushing up the entire length. “It’s so soft,” he murmurs. “Wasn’t expecting- that.” Derek is leaking inside his shorts.

Stiles touches the tip, fingers getting coated in wetness, and his head snaps up. He stares at Derek, eyes dark and reverent, almost.

“Can I pull you out?” Stiles asks roughly, cheeks burning. “Wanna see—”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” Derek’s voice is hoarse, raspy, barely recognizable. Stiles settles on his knees again while Derek leans back and lifts his hips long enough for Stiles to wiggle his sweats past his ass.

Stiles looks at Derek, to double, triple check before he grabs the waist band and pulls it up and over Derek’s dick.

“Oh.”

It’s not a bad oh. At least, Derek doesn’t think so as it is immediately followed by Stiles hand reaching out to touch him.

“Fuck, you’re wet.” Derek hips twitch and Stiles’ hand follows, soothing his thumb over his hipbone. “Can I-? I just want to jerk you off a little bit. It’s not weird, right?”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s fine.” His tongue fills thick in his mouth. He can’t look Stiles in the eye, afraid of what he might see, just tilts his hips up, silently asking for more, fuck, just touch him.

Stiles’ clever, clever fingers play in the slick, gathering driblets until his hand is covered. He slides it from top to root, and back up, curiously, experimentally.

Derek moans, a small, bitten off, broken thing, ears burning even as he rocks into it helplessly. Stiles looks at him, eyes nearly all black now.

“Fuck, does that feel good?”

Derek nods, only now aware that his fingers are digging into Stiles’ arms, holding on to him to keep him from falling over the edge.

“Good,” Stiles licks his lips and exhales heavily. “I want this to be good for you.”

He strokes Derek again, stopping when Derek can’t help the sound that escapes him. Stiles reached down with his free hand to readjust himself, squeeze himself, eyes rolling shut. It looks like it kills him a little to let go, but he does, giving his full attention back to Derek.

Derek doesn’t think, just reaches down and grabs him.

Stiles holds back a groan. “You don’t have to,” he says weakly.

Right, because this is just supposed to be Stiles figuring out if he’s into dick. Derek pastes on a smile. “Least I can do.”

And Stiles nods and rocks his cock into Derek’s hand. It’s heavy and hot in his palm, even through multiple layers of clothing, and Stiles is panting, open mouthed and pretty and Derek feels another blurt of cum dripping out the tip of his dick. He doesn’t have the space in his head to be embarrassed by how his body betrays him, showing how much he apparently wants this, wants Stiles.

“Fuck, lets get these off.”

Stiles nods frantically and helps Derek unbutton his stupid khakis and push them and his boxers down around his knees. Derek licks his hand and wraps it around Stiles.

“Fuck. _Derek,”_ he moans. His forehead is sweaty and warm where it presses into Derek’s neck.

“I know,” Derek murmurs. “It’s okay.” He drops a kiss to the top of his head almost on instinct. It causes a brief moment of panic because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, where this urge to be tender is coming from when this is supposed to be an experiment.

It’s put to rest when Stiles lifts his face, eyes closed, searching blindly for Derek’s mouth. He sighs into the kiss, like Derek is offering him some sort of relief. They push closer together, dicks bumping into each other and making them hiss.

“Shit,” Derek mumbles, looking down at them. He gets his hand around both him and Stiles and tentatively tugs.

Stiles bites him.

“Sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to-” he breaks off with a groan as Derek twists his hand, milking a large string of precum out of him. He catches it with his fingers and rubs them over his own cock. Stiles lets out a strange sound and rushes in to kiss him, noses knocking into each other. Derek hardly notices.

He lies back, hooking his arm around Stiles’ waist and dragging Stiles down with him.  
Stiles wastes no time, lining them up and grinding down against him. Derek eats at his mouth, there’s really no other way to put it, while they rock together.

He grabs Stiles’ ass and brings him closer, feeling the hypnotic movement of his hips, Stiles’ fingernails biting into the flesh of his back, their dicks sliding hot and wet against each other, driving him crazy.

Derek feels it building in his gut and has just enough sense to warn Stiles before he comes.

“Stiles, I’m gonna-”

Stiles nods frantically and Derek feels him tensing seconds after him.

Warmth spreads across his skin.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles breathes, going boneless. He sounds destroyed. Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ hair, unable to help himself.

Stiles lays on top of him, shaking, or maybe that’s Derek, eyes wide.

“So, definitely into it. Def, def not an issue for me, the whole...penis thing.”

“Yeah?” Derek breathes, and Stiles’ eyes are locked on his lips now, entranced. Stiles nods. Derek can’t help it, he smashes their mouths together.

When Derek finally lets him up for air, Stiles hoists himself up, hands resting on Derek’s stomach, ass on his thighs. His shirt’s a mess, much like Derek’s. He’ll have to borrow something to go home in. Derek thinks he likes the idea more than he should.

Stiles fidgets in his lap and Derek silently lifts his chin, asking him what he’s thinking. 

“Maybe we should go again, though, just to be sure. You know. For science.”

Derek smirks, hands flexing where they’re fit comfortably around Stiles’ hips.

“Give me two minutes.”

Stiles moves around again, drawing attention to his already hardening cock. Derek’s dick twitches in response. “You have one.”

Yeah, that's not gonna be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh plot sucks why cant they just find shitty reasons to keep kissing all the time and never have a background story. Also don't get mad but I've basically had this chapter done for almost a year and a half; it was just missing an ending. I'm posting before I can overthink it but will be back to fix the rushed parts. More soon

**Author's Note:**

> comments r coo
> 
> [tumblr](http://livthelion.tumblr.com) ♥


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